


Captive Traitors

by BuddyWritesFic



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddyWritesFic/pseuds/BuddyWritesFic
Summary: The Heretic Primarchs, along with Fulgrim's clone, are held captive by the loyalists.
Relationships: Fulgrim/Fulgrim, Horus/Sanguinius (WH40K), Konrad Curze/Fulgrim (WH40K)
Kudos: 24





	1. Tentacle Scurvy

Fulgrim’s selective hunger strike had gone on for weeks, and the tentacles in his mouth grew more audacious by the day. When his captors tried to power the ritual, he brought them off before they could build enough energy, and when the other prisoners were left in his reach, he scandalized them with increasingly aggressive blowjobs.

They force-fed him; he spat the food out later, undigested. They pumped him full of sedatives; his tolerance outpaced their ministrations as his tentacles outpaced their feet. They ripped the tentacles out; he climaxed, and more grew in their place. They bound the tentacles up in vent tape and ceramite; they slithered from their bonds like roots through pavement and writhed on their victims with sharpened appetite. It was a massive disruption to the schedule.

It was the end of another failed session. Vulkan had dragged Fulgrim from the room with a catchpole and was trying to wrestle him back to his cell. Russ, Khan, and Ferrus remained with the other prisoner they’d been using (or trying to use), grumpily putting their pants on while they waited for Vulkan to finish locking the menace away.

“I know how to make him stop,” Other Fulgrim said from his place chained to the altar.

“Shut your face, traitor,” Ferrus snapped. He’d had enough for one day of anything that came from a Fulgrim’s mouth.

“I’m not a traitor, and you’re not making any progress. I know how to fix it,” he insisted.

Russ held up a hand to still Ferrus’s objections. “Aye? And what’s your solution?”

“What will you give me?”

Ferrus lunged at Other Fulgrim. Khan caught him, but just barely. “Easy, let him talk.” He understood that Ferrus hated the Fulgrims, but he hated standing still, and he was eager for anything that could get them on the road again.

“Give you?” Russ scoffed. “We’ll give you a cell without Captain Calamari plundering your booty day and night. In’t that enough?”

Other Fulgrim shook his head. “I don’t care if he ‘plunders my booty’ with his tentacles or with something else. This is your bottleneck, in your project. I have a solution. What will you give me?”

Russ looked to his comrades, and then back to the prisoner. His options were few. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I want Ferrus to say I’m not a traitor.”

Ferrus erupted into a storm of vituperation, and Russ and Khan could barely be heard above him.

“Yes, we know!” Leman boomed from deep in his chest. “We know you hate him. Everyone hates him! We know you’ve no taste for this. But if you won’t do something distasteful to bring back our Father, then I don’t know why you’re here in the basement in cum-stained pants! Now, say what he wants to hear, so we can get back to work, so we can finish!”

Ferrus grunted in disgust. _“Fine.”_ He fixed Other Fulgrim with a searing gaze. “You’re not a traitor. You _look_ like a traitor, and you _talk_ like a traitor, and when I see you, the bile rises in my throat as it _rises_ for a traitor. You’re from the gene-bending _wank-science_ of a traitor and his traitor magos. But since they started scrambling your goo _after_ the treason was committed and not before, I suppose that technically, to split the finest hair on a newborn Eldar’s _arse, technically,_ you’re not a traitor.”

Other Fulgrim stared at him transfixed throughout his short speech. When it was finished, he nodded. “Thank you. That means a great deal, coming from you.” He looked up at Russ. “All right, you’ve paid me. You’ll have your due: put lemon juice on Ferrus’s dick. He’ll get it down him in an instant, and I doubt he’ll spit it up again.”

Ferrus heaved up one of the great, golden tables they used in their work, and he beat it to ruined pieces gainst the wall. But once his ire was spent, the solution was adopted, and Fulgrim’s tentacles withered and fell away after a few applications. Other Fulgrim never felt that his captors adequately appreciated his problem solving, but he had gotten what he wanted, and for now, he was satisfied.


	2. Fulgrims and Konrad

To distinguish himself from his… other self, Fulgrim II had cut his hair off with a sharpened spoon, leaving him a choppy ear-length bob. They weren’t completely identical, of course. Fulgrim I was a little paler, the circles beneath his eyes a little darker. His expression was lecherous instead of weary. He sweated more than the clone did, and it smelled like fever-sweat. But Fulgrim II had thought the measure prudent all the same, and now an observer could tell them apart at a glance.

Bob Fulgrim sat on his cot, watching Braid Fulgrim as he crept toward Night Haunter. Their erstwhile protege was his favorite target whenever Ferrus was unavailable; no matter how often he provoked him, Night Haunter still responded with blows that his damaged nervous system could convert into dopamine. Their encounters left Fulgrim (briefly) sated and Konrad screaming in helpless rage as violence, his only reliable tool, failed to draw anything but orgasms from his grinning victim.

Bob moved in front of Fulgrim to block his path. “You’re pathetic,” he said.

“You’re in my way,” Fulgrim countered. He stepped around him, only to be blocked again.

“You pick on Konrad because you’re too _boring_ to get anyone else’s attention. Your attacks aren’t bad enough. Your dick’s not good enough. The only person you can trick into acknowledging you is Konrad, and that’s easy mode, because he hates everything. It’s practically cheating!”

Konrad frowned behind him, uncertain what the clone was playing at. He had been expecting another round with the usual handsy punching bag. He wasn’t looking forward to it, exactly. Their fights were always miserable. But he’d been expecting it, and he wasn’t usually surprised. It made him uncomfortable.

“Harsh words from a _knock-off_ ,” Fulgrim spat. “Grow your own personality before you criticize mine.”

“No one cares about you,” the clone continued. “You can’t make anyone care about you.”

“I tire of this.” A flush rose in Fulgrim’s cheeks, but he was still looking past his clone at Konrad’s enticing body.

The clone took him by the chin and forced him to meet his eyes. “You’re a has-been druggie pile of garbage. No one wants you.”

Fulgrim grabbed his wrist and roughly jerked his hand away. “You dare--”

“All you do is fuck up and disappoint people. That’s why Daddy loved Horus more. Horus kept his shit together.”

“I WILL BITE THE LYING TONGUE FROM YOUR MOUTH!” He pounced on his clone with a vicious, predatory kiss, and they fell into a tangle on the hard stone floor.

Konrad stood over them, awkwardly waiting his turn. He assumed the distraction wouldn’t last for long. But every time the original seemed finished, the clone goaded him with another barb or challenge or uncomfortable personal secret, and the battle joined again. After a couple hours, Konrad went to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Horus was a fast healer, as he was designed to be. But his brothers were fast wounders, and their combined efforts began to outpace him. He was not able to walk from his cell to his brother’s quarters, so Sanguinius carried him instead.

The door closed behind them. “I’m sorry about that,” Sanguinius said. “Russ takes it too far. We’ll talk to him.” He laid Horus down on a soft, clean bed. It smelled like feathers. “I’ll give you something for the pain,” he said, fixing a needle to a syringe. “It’s going to be all right.”

“Are you telling me,” Horus asked, “or yourself?”

“I don’t know. Both? Everyone? Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

He hulled the needle in the meat of Horus’s thigh, and again, and again. The scream of his crushed femur dulled down to a quiet growl, and Horus’s shoulders relaxed. He looked around. They were alone. “Do you have Guilliman’s permission for this?” he asked.

“Actually, yes,” Sanguinius said. “Guilliman says I get you once a week.”

“And you’re using it to fix my leg? Not to ravish me?”

Sanguinius pushed his face away. “You wish.” He touched the swollen skin above the fracture. “Can you feel this?”

Horus shook his head.

“Good. Deep breath in, I’m going to set it.”

The quiet growl of pain rose and crescendoed as Sanguinius pulled the jagged pieces straight.

“Terran soil – !” Horus cursed.

“I know, I know, I’m the worst.” He ran a scanner over the leg. “Okay, that’s better.” He opened a pak of plas-crete bandages and started putting them on. “You’ll probably heal in a week or so.”

“Last time I broke a femur, it took about four days.”

“When was that?” Sanguinius asked. “Was I stationed somewhere else?”

Horus laughed. “You were the one who broke it. Remember? On that wretched moon in the Aldoras system.”

Sanguinius looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“On the third moon of Aldoras Longas?” Horus tried. “Father said he had something important to tell us, and then he said to fight to the death?”

“That never happened!” Sanguinius looked shocked. His feathers puffed up. “Horus, I’d remember if I’d broken your leg in a fight to the death. Are you messing with me?”

“I’m not.” He laid back down and looked up at the ceiling. “You probably don’t remember.”

“You can’t just make things up to retroactively justify patricide!” his brother said. “Especially not things I was supposedly there for! I’d remember if I hurt you!”

“You hurt me two weeks ago in the battle for Terra,” Horus countered.

“Yes, and I remember it! I don’t remember dropping you off a cliff in the Aldoras system, what the feth?”

“All right,” Horus said. “Forget about it. Maybe it was someone else. I just meant to say, I can usually heal a femur in four days.”

“Well, good,” Sanguinius said, working the bandages between his hands. “You’re lucky you’re so dense.”

“I’m told it’s one of my better qualities,” Horus agreed.

He hadn’t mentioned anything about a cliff.


End file.
